In the heat of the moment
by kimmiesjoy
Summary: A collection of M! oneshots.
1. Say yes to the dress

A collection of one shots written for the Kink of the Castle 2015 summer meme. Prompts will be at the end. As always, thank you for reading.

* * *

It's her own fault for coming here, in that stupid dress that she hates but knows does all kinds of amazing things to her legs. Her own fault for coming here to him in _that_ dress and _nothing_ else and letting him flirt with her, _again_ , letting him drive her crazy, _again_.

Nikki _Heat_? Really?

It's as stupid and inane as the man himself, the man who is groping her breasts and touching her skin and breathing hot, heavy breath at the base of her skull as if he can't believe what's actually happening.

She can't either but, fuck it, fuck it all, it feels fantastic.

He's got _that_ dress up around her waist and his fingers working frantically between her legs when she realizes she's staring at a fucking _cardboard cutout_ of the man's face as he pries himself out of his pants and starts sliding against her wetness. Wetness that just gives her away _entirely_.

His damn face and his cocky chuckle on the back of her neck as he works himself up against her lips, stroking back and forth so assuredly that she wants to beg him to just fucking take her, and turn around and shoot him, all at the same time.

He aggravates the fuck out of her and right now he has the opportunity to aggravate the fuck _into her_ as well only he's dithering. Toying around with her reactions, learning things he has no right to be learning when this is a - no shadow of a doubt, a one time, fucked up against the wall at her favourite authors book signing - colossal mistake of a thing that they will never, ever be speaking of again.

Except he is, he is speaking, crooning little sounds to the back of her neck, talking about how much he loves her hair being short because he can kiss her skin. And he does, he kisses and licks and bites and strokes and fuck, fuck-

"Fuck."

\- sucks on her pulse point so she can feel it thud all the way down to her clit. And he knows too, somehow - fuck him and his damn observations - knows enough that when he sucks the next time, so much strength in his tongue and teeth behind it that she almost comes there and then. He knows to roll that burning little bud back and forth between his thumb and forefinger and pinch it hard enough that it stays just the right side of pleasure and tiptoes enough into pain that she cries out his name.

"Fuck, Castle, do that again."

It's a demand, so much threat of violence that she may as well be aiming a taser at his testicles, but he just laughs, damn right chuckles at the base of her neck and strokes her again.

"I _knew_ you liked me."

She doesn't like him, nope, fuck no, not one little bit. She hates him in fact. Hates his meddling and his interference in her life that somehow has her looking forward to the next ridiculous, childish thing he comes out with just so she can _jump him_ for being moronic.

Jump _on_ him, not jump him. Dammit, except she really fucking wants to jump him.

Maybe ride his face to shut him up.

Fuck, no, she does not like him. She likes this, this slow tease of his cock against her warm wet skin, hunger a bitter bite that wants him to fuck her hard against the cardboard boxes that house copies of his novel, with his fucking smirking cardboard cutout right there watching every stroke and surge.

"I knew it," he hums, and she feels him, just the tip, seeking space as he maneuvers. Fuck it, she wants him inside, so she's helping. Against her better judgement and her own inner monologue of _I hate you Richard Castle_ she's helping.

Lifting her thigh and bending her knee, rucking up her dress so he can grip her waist, and even reaching back to push his pants down his legs. She's helping him take her, helping herself get fucked, because even as she knows he'll crow about it, taunt her for it, she wants it.

This.

Him.

Now.

"You are so fucking sexy," he growls, dragging his nails up the backs of her thighs, squeezing her ass so she hisses. He parts her cheeks and toys with the wetness he finds, exciting himself and driving her to distraction.

"It's a sexy name." His voice is a hushed whisper of perversion that has her eyes slamming shut.

Does he have to fucking talk through everything he does?

Does she have to react like her skin's on fire from his voice alone?

"That's why I picked it," he spreads her open and she whimpers, "Nikki-" his finger slides inside her, "Heat. It's a sexy name because all-" he slides it back and forth and her head hits the crate in front of her "- I could think about was you. She's sexy because _you_ are."

"Shut up." she growls and there's no weight behind it, none at all, because him shutting up, him stopping, him doing anything _other_ than exactly what he's doing right now would ruin this for her.

"And intelligent, so fucking smart." He pulls his fingers out and grazes her with his cock, the smallest nudge that has her biting her lip so she doesn't -

"Fuck, yes, do it,"

\- give herself away.

He laughs but it's not smarmy now, no smirk in his tone just happiness that she wants him. Happiness that he gets to have her.

He pushes inside and she can't help the moan that snakes its way free. It's been so fucking long and he feels so damn good. She can't help the way her fingers slide between them, up and under to feel him burning his way inside.

Thick and hard against her fingertips. Heavy and - oh, shit - pushing so deep that her knuckles white out in time with her vision.

It's too much fantasy to be real. Feels too fucking amazing to let the opportunity pass her by and she strokes his balls where they slap lackadaisically against her ass.

He grips her thigh and pushes the last little space between them away, sliding into her until her ass is cradled by his stomach and thighs, the hairs of his legs scratching at her own.

"You -" he grits out, and she can hear the nail bite control it's taking him - fuck does she want to make that slip - "You are - amazing."

He growls and his hands slip under her dress, one straight to the beating heart in her chest, stroking over it to her breast, finding her nipple. The other drops between her legs, works that little bud with focused attention even as he refuses to move.

Everything burns where they touch, inside and out, and she can't wriggle free, can't entice him to withdraw when he's buried so deep all she can do is feel. All she can taste, see and smell is him. Him and sex.

Fuck, fuck, why won't he move.

"You feel fucking amazing," he growls out his praises and pulls out only to thrust back inside, hard and fast, no warning, no preamble just fucking her like he knows exactly what she wants.

He does, somehow, and she hates him for it a little bit more.

"I can't believe -" he gasps, "- you came."

She snorts, _not yet_ , and he laughs, delighted she's taken it dirtily, delighted she's said it outloud when she didn't mean to.

"You will, oh, Kate Beckett, you will." He promises and kisses her neck and rolls his hips so she's seeing stars.

"Why are you naked under this dress, Beckett?" He demands and he tweaks her nipple, flicks at her clit and pushes inside so she's nothing but burning sensation and no ability to hold back her answer.

"Wanted - oh, god - wanted to tease you, an- oh, annoy you like you annoy me." She meets his thrust so he grunts and fuck, if that's not the hottest thing she's ever heard she doesn't know what is. "Wanted to pester you at work, and rile you up."

"Fuck, it's working." He swears, curses her name when she squeezes her muscles around him and his cock just seems to pulsate and thicken, slide deeper and fill her until she's panting and as desperate as he is.

His fingers rub her frantically, his own orgasm licking at their heels, and it pushes her fast into a freefall, her knees shaking as she comes around him. Hard, tight muscles bucking and squeezing so that he croaks her name in shock, cries something akin to mercy when her unrelenting tidal wave of bliss drags him right along with her.

Oblivion blackening her vision, she cries out to the feel of him coming inside her.

* * *

"I like this dress," he mutters fondly, tugging it down the backs of her legs a little while later.

"I don't," she confesses, catching her hand and stopping herself from brushing the hair back from his eyes. She meets his gaze unashamedly, "I hate it."

"And me?" He wonders, sated blue eyes lazy as they roam her face.

She shrugs, looks up at him from under her lashes, "A little less than before."

"Orgasms help with that." He throws out, stepping in until her back is against the crates and cardboard Castle is smiling at her knowingly.

"Is that right?" She fights her own grin as he takes her hand, takes her lips too.

"Come home with me and I'll prove it."

"Change the name?" She has to try, he laughs into her kiss and she likes it.

"Never."

"It was worth a shot." She pushes on his shoulders but instead of moving he sinks into her and kisses her slowly, like she's a luxurious treat he can't get enough of.

Making her heart beat fast when he agrees, "As are you, detective."

* * *

 **Prompt** : Castle/Beckett

Set in 1x04 Hell Hath No Fury

Final scene continuation. Beckett chases him around the bookstore until they stumble into a back room. She corners him and jumps him. When he discovers the only clothing she has on is the dress it drives him wild. He takes her up against the wall or bent over a table.


	2. Hate to see your heart break

**A/N:** hopefully this meets the prompt.

* * *

" _We're not going to survive this, are we?"_

The words he uttered as he drove her through the door of her bedroom echo loudly now in her head. Louder than anything else has the last few days, drowning out the lies and the years spent blind and oblivious.

His words skitter over her skin in the wake of his fingertips as he waits for her to answer, waits for her to stop him. To say something. Say anything.

But she can't.

She has _nothing_. No speech, no ability to comprehend beyond the need that fuels her body and fires her soul.

 _Throw caution to the wind and have him._

Everything else is shutting down, shutting him out, building up layer upon layer to those walls as she fights to stay afloat the only way she knows how.

She retreats.

But her body is aching and wet, hot and needy, the feel of him touching her bringing an anguished, tormented cry from her lips.

She ignores that taunting inner voice as it begins throwing up questions she has no answers to. Can you have makeup sex without ever having been in a relationship? When one of you has just broken up with someone else? When someone you both cherish has died and you're both a grieving mess?

Will they be able to look each other in the eye tomorrow?

Can they survive this?

That's what he asked and she has no idea, no way to bring them back and Kate breaks her heart around the thought that she's risking it all, yet cannot bring herself to stop.

She pushes him back onto the bed, unable to bear the thunderous roar of anger and anguish that fills her head. He looks as naked and broken as she feels, stripped bare, rubbed raw. Kate climbs into his lap, sinks down onto him before he can have a chance to argue, to overthink. No time to allow herself to second guess.

Before she tries to run away from him completely.

She hisses as their hips meet, cries out at the look of awe that bathes his face. Shudders when his own eyes glisten and she finds her throat burning with tears that are fighting their way free.

It's slow and she gasps as she rises, taking him in she drops down and buries her face in his neck, unable to meet his eyes any longer. Eyes that still plead with her, eyes that weep love when right now she feels like she has nothing left to give.

Kate hides the fall of her tears by tipping her head into his shoulder and pressing her lips to his pulse. They don't kiss, somehow both of them knowing that's not what this is.

It should be more.

But it's not.

She wraps her legs tighter around his waist and clings to him as he shakes beneath her. Pent up energy and strength all bound in tense muscles and a loyal heart that beats too loudly for those he loves. Right now it screams her name.

She doesn't deserve him.

 _He_ doesn't deserve _this_. Yet, she holds him tight, her arms around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, feeling the impending tremor of his release start her own.

Feeling the way his fingers tense, the thickness of him inside.

It will be over soon she knows, both of them spent and regretful, broken and unable to reach for each other to get through this.

She can't give him up and she can't give him what he wants and those two opposing thoughts race through her, mocking her attempts to love him with her body when she wants nothing more than to offer him her heart.

She lies to herself. Lies to survive.

It's grief, nothing more, she pretends as Castle's arms wrap around her and he rolls them, the movement allowing a sob to escape.

He traces her throat, touches her heart and thumbs her nipple, groans when she arches into him seeking more. He cups her breasts and touches where they're joined, strokes her with such tenderness that she falls a little further into something she _cannot_ call _love_ with him. Not yet.

It's grief and nothing else, she screams to her mind, biting down on her tongue when the words _I love you_ try to slip free. Unsure if he'll believe her, not sure she trusts herself enough to say them and mean them and be worthy of their response.

He'd give her everything. She knows that now, knew it the moment he appeared behind her and lifted her off her feet, dragging her from the hangar.

He'd give his life for hers.

She wouldn't survive it if he did.

Kate lies to herself as he keeps up the simple rhythm, driving her higher and higher while she pretends it's felt this good before, with other people. This right. This true.

She _pretends_ that she hasn't imagined this very movement, in and out, back and forth, the sound of skin on skin, slippery with arousal and sweat, drenched with perspiration and passion.

Him, above and inside.

She lies to herself and she's usually so good at living in denial, compartmentalising, hiding, that for a split second she thinks it's working.

Then he looks at her, really, truly sees her, and her world falls apart.

Her heart breaks.

Her facade shatters.

Everything is a lie and Montgomery is dead.

Their eyes stay locked as he pulls out slowly, slides back in as if sending a rolling wave of pain through her heart, the ripple of her walls encasing him making them both moan even as tears slip down her cheeks. Her breath catches when his own tears pitter patter over her face, falling from above like sorrowful rain.

He doesn't hide them, just allows her the privilege of sharing in his pain, and she wishes to god she was worthy of it.

It's slow and intimate and everything they both swore they didn't want when it started. An affirmation of life, a moment they wouldn't speak of again, but they should have known better, should have known _anything_ between them would always be more.

Now every movement feels right, like lightning and sparks over flint. Every touch a caress, an intimacy that goes beyond reaching for a steady hand when her's were shaking.

And she had been shaking, head to toe, mad and frightened and desperate. That's how it all started. Every inch of her destroyed by a person she trusted, one she couldn't be angry with anymore because he was _dead_.

At the thought another sob breaks free and Castle breaks his promise and kisses her. Soft sweet lips drape over her own and she has no choice but to open to him, to pull him tighter and keep him near. To kiss him back even after she swore to herself she wouldn't. Not again. Not until she was ready.

He rolls his hips and pulls back from her lips so their mingled cries of mourning become something softer, something sweet.

"Are we?" He asks again and her voice catches as he moves.

Their stomachs brush and he touches her face, sweeps the hair and tears from her eyes in a tender move that has her heart clenching in her chest.

She wants so badly to tell him yes, yes they will come out the other side of this grief stricken mess stronger, better people. Closer than ever.

But she's not sure.

Her courage fails and his eyes plead with hers and she does the only thing she can think of, she kisses him instead.

She kisses him for all the times he stood by her and held her hand the way he did tonight. She kisses him for the clench of fingers that have always kept her grounded when the world was falling apart.

When bombs were going off and serial killers loomed, he had her back. When the man who inspired her to be the best cop she could possibly be admitted he'd lied to her face from the moment they met, then gave his life for her, Castle had stepped in, picked up the pieces, and carried her to safety.

She kisses him for every moment she could never find words for.

She might not be able to give him her heart, but she can give him _this_.

This kiss and a million more after.

She kisses him for all the moments missed and the life she might not have had if he'd listened to her stubborn arguments and rage induced rants. If he'd left tonight when she told him to, when she called him out expecting him to turn tail and run. If he hadn't planted his feet and yelled back, told her he was just as stubborn as she could be. If he hadn't refused to budge when he knew she was hurting. When he knew she was in danger.

She kisses him and folds her legs around him, brings him deep into the sacred depths of her body and holds him there until he knows, until he understands. Until he feels the secrets her heart whispers when her mouth is empty of words.

She has no answers for what they are beyond this night, beyond this earth shattering moment when he strips her bare yet again and holds her. When she breaks apart in his arms and hears him cry her name.

One day she will love him back the way he deserves, but for now she can only offer him in silence that which he has always given her: hope.

* * *

 **PROMPT** : Caskett

angry/breakup sex or make up sex something with a little angst

(Can be pre or post couple)


	3. Cowboy, baby

She's seeing stars.

Black pinpricks of darkness caught up in a field of white because the skirt of her dress is up over her head and Castle's tongue is buried so deeply inside her that -

"Fu -" she groans, the word tangled up at the back of her throat, "-uucckk."

She sighs, laughter caught up in the sound as it explodes from her chest. He's teasing and tormenting her, indulging his own enjoyment at the sounds she makes, the frustrated chuckle that spills from her lips every time he pulls away. A shudder wrecks her sorely sought after composure, caution now dancing in the wind as her _husband_ paints her swollen flesh with kisses. Nipping and tasting and touching until her body becomes a live wire that jumps and judders, flexes and flares when he swirls his tongue, grazing her with his teeth.

Her fingers curl, open and close, no anchor for her body as he keeps her laid back across the bed, hanging taut, hair cascading to the floor.

She's not moved since he deposited her on the bed, having carried her into their newly acquired _honeymoon suite_. He'd strode with strength and confidence, twisting her mid-air so she was over his shoulder rather than in his arms, before tossing her down and tumbling after.

They'd landed sideways.

And sideways was where they'd stayed.

Now one leg is thrown over his shoulder, the other cast wide and the thigh high split has been stolen and used thoroughly to his advantage. At her husband's mercy and loving every minute of it, Kate throws back her head and moans.

"You're -" she swallows when he licks up and up and up, tasting as he goes, "- so good at that."

He doesn't laugh or lift his head, doesn't add a finger even though she craves the forceful push of him inside. Instead he slows, his lapping tongue drawn into a point that maps her. All the way up and all the way down. Circling slowly. Peppering her with the lightest touch, a tickle, a tease until she's groaning, hips flexing and bobbing, up and down, seeking his attention.

She gasps when he complies. Thank fuck he had the devious premeditation to undo the laces of her corset. Breasts heaving but still bound, she can at least breathe through the onslaught of sensation.

Fisting the white cotton in savage handfuls, Kate fights to reclaim her sight. Vision blurring into nothing but the backs of her eyelids when Castle sucks her clit passed his teeth, holds it, and flicks across it with the flat of his tongue.

His hands roam her thighs, circle the back of her knee and arched line of her calf, fingers expanding to reach as much skin as he can without withdrawing his mouth.

He hums, and catches her ankle as she kicks out, both desperate for, and wanting escape from, the sensation, the vibrations that reverberate through his teeth, his tongue, his lightly stubbled jaw where it presses against her sopping lips.

It's almost too much. Heat blistering her skin, she sticks to everything, the dress, the bed, _him_. Suddenly glad when he uses her sweat to his advantage and glues himself to her. Open mouthed and deadly, Castle sucks, slurps, and hums to the tune he played on the harmonica.

Her limbs shake, her stomach clenches and everything narrows to the mounting sensation she's fighting not to give in to.

It feels too good, too intense, too miraculous to surrender just yet. Right there with her, desperate to prolong the sight of his passion strewn wife, spread eagled below him, Castle moves to her thighs, biting at the stiff and tensed muscle, coaxing her to relax.

Her hands come up and, with some difficulty as she shakes, she frees herself from the swathe of dress that's clinging to her sweaty face.

Their eyes lock and her hand drops, fingers spreading out through his hair and stroking as softly as his fingers suddenly are when they meander across her and pry her apart.

Her lip falls between her teeth, the anticipation almost as good as the sensation, watching him eye her, touch and test her, preparing to devour her. Licking his own lips and relishing the flavour. _Almost_ as good because the moment his mouth is on her she knows _this time_ he means business. There will be no break for air or shallow come down. No moment to catch her breath and regain composure.

With his eyes focused solely on her, Castle uses his thumbs to keep her wide and pushes his tongue as deep into her as he can, slowly coiling it upwards until her soft elasticity gives way to his invasion.

She shudders and hisses his name.

He writes her's against the burning skin he savours.

Mouth wide and his fingers twisting, wrist rotating, his tongue is replaced by longer, thicker digits bent on her destruction.

His touch is burning, borders on pain for the shortest of seconds before it's bliss. Mouth over her, teeth nibbling a path up to her clit, her heartbeat echoes from between her legs loud enough, surely, for him to hear. She thrums, bounces, rolls her hips and pulls away, can't tear her eyes from his and wants to squeeze her vision tightly shut, concentrate, all at the same time.

Castle feels so good, knows exactly where to touch and how much and maybe it's her honeymoon brain making it perfect, or maybe it just _is_. She's so in love with the man buried between her legs that he could pop up twirling a fake moustache and wearing a sheriff's badge and she'd still beg him to roll her over and fuck her harder.

"Soon," he kisses her, nips, makes her groan and flush and not give a shit she spoke that request outloud. He is _her_ husband and she can beg, demand and cajole the man into taking her any damn way she pleases.

 _She -_

He works her up and up, chases the orgasm as if desperate to catch it for her, grunting noises of satisfaction when his palm slides against her, fingers slipping into her with ease. Utterly besotted when the wet, slapping evidence of her enjoyment fills the room.

 _\- is on -_

He laps at her, sucks the tiny throbbing bud over his tongue and strums it, speeding up when she cries out, her heels drumming both his back and the bed.

 _\- her -_

Castle hums, licks, sucks, pressing up with the buried pads of his fingers, strolling them back and forth and in and out until she breaks apart, hard and wet and hot over his dancing fingertips.

 _\- Honeymoon._

Kate cries out loudly, throatily, eyes wide but vision blurring at the edges, the intense crash of ecstasy jumping from her body in short, sharp waves. Inside and out she feels like she's glowing. Hot and broken wide, fluttering, pulsing, trembling in his arms until she has to drag his hands away, pull him up for a forceful, jittery kiss.

He laughs, delighted when her "I love you's" pitter patter over his lips and cheeks. Laughs louder still when she wriggles against him and hums the H word against the hollow of his throat.

He's content to curl up above her for now, but she'll have none of it, hooking her still tingling toes into the back of his calf and flipping them over.

"Round two." She demands, rolling him beneath her and reaching for his belt, yanking it undone with a passionate fury that has him gasping. Won't be the only thing that has him gasping, she smirks, and she'd bet her badge, her hat and any gold in them there hills, she'll be riding him bareback before his pants hit his knees.

* * *

 **PROMPT:**

kate/castle

Honeymoon sex


End file.
